Bereshit: Myth or Truth

           A myth is defined by Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary as a traditional story or parable of ostensibly historical events that serves to unfold part of the world-view of a people or explain a practice, a belief, or natural phenomenon.  We assume myths are false, untrue.  Indeed, an abbreviated definition of the word myth offered by this same on-line resource identifies a myth as “a story that is believed by many people but that isn’t true.”

            I believe Merriam-Webster has mixed up “truth” with “factual.” 

            This same dictionary restrains from this mix-up in at least one of its suggested offerings for the word true.  There “true” is defined as “something that is conformable to an essential reality.”  “Something that is conformable to an essential reality.”  Not necessarily a factual reality, but an essential reality.  Isn’t that ultimately what we believe is true?  What we believe is true more often than not is something which conforms to a reality we have already accepted as essential – whether based on fact, supposition, assumption, fear, or just plain laziness. 

Bershit bara Elohim et hashamayim v’et ha’aretz, At the start, God created the heavens and the earth.  Our parasha opens with a familiar and orderly creation myth.  Creation stories are foundational to human existence.  Virtually every culture has one or more - a narrative, or narratives, that work to explain how the world, and how humanity, came into existence. Despite differences in when and where these various stories arise, remarkably, they have a number of commonalities. 

One of the most common similarities among these creation “myths” is that a supreme being is almost always central to the story. Another is that order is often imposed or grows out of a primordial undifferentiated muck, in our Hebrew story what is labeled to’hu va’vo-hu.  As a species, we humans find comfort in the thought that there is a divine motivation and structure to existence.   The presence of human life is also almost always accounted for in these stories of creation, and not surprisingly – we wrote them, humans are generally introduced into the story in a manner which places them on the hierarchy below Divine beings but above the rest of the animal kingdom. 

Our sacred biblical story of creation: myth? Or, truth?

            Let’s first remind ourselves that we have two pretty well fleshed out and contradictory tales offered within the first three chapters of Torah – the opening story which gives us the neatly packaged 7-day plan of creation and the less orderly but far more dramatic (and probably older) tale of Adam and Eve.  Are these stories factual? Not necessarily.  In my opinion, not at all.  Do they offer important and lasting truths.  Certainly.   The creation of Adam from adamah, from the earth, for instance, reminds us that we are but dust; it serves to instill us and ground us with humility and respect for the world around us.  The assertion that we are made b’tzelem Elohim, in God’s image, demands from us that we act responsibly not only towards each other but for the other forms of life over which we are told we have dominion.  Adam and Eve’s partaking of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge and subsequent expulsion from Eden reminds us that intellectual curiosity may complicate our lives but also has the power to expand our world exponentially. 

Myth and truth: must they always be viewed as exclusively independent categories.  Regardless of whether our biblical creation myths are factual, they have inherent value and truth to them.

            At the same, our biblical tradition, our religious canon, cannot replace scientific exploration.  Religion is not science.  It was never intended as such.  Appreciation of these ancient stories born between the 10^th and 6^th centuries BCE, before the Common Era, should never be allowed to squash modern critical thinking and further exploration into scientific inquiry.   Appreciating the value of these stories must never cause us to turn a blind eye to learning more about the science of our world so that we can commit ourselves to the continued ‘creation,’ the continued existence of this world.  If we truly understand ourselves as made in God’s image, than it is our responsibility to be fully open to understanding the science of creation.

Conversely, acknowledging the veracity of evolutionary theories of creation, of scientific explanations of how our world has come to be, where the world is going, and how the earth needs to be protected and cared for as it continues, need not cancel out the truths we gain from our religious narrative.

            There is room for both.  We must make room for both. 

Rosh Hoshanah 5774: Will the "nones" have it?

            It has been six years.  Six years since our congregation was faced with a critical decision: merge with another congregation in order to become part of a larger institution with a bigger staff and a grander building, or re-envision our focus and recommit to being a small and intimate congregation where, to quote a pop-relic,  “everybody knows your name.”  Meetings were held, and the decision was clear.  There was an outpouring of passion for Temple Emanuel and a desire to remain independent in order to serve the needs of Jews living in Northern Baltimore and Carroll Counties and to preserve the congregation’s legacy of social action, modern and uplifting worship, and intellectual integrity.  It was a bold decision especially when viewed in hindsight considering the economic crash that soon followed and impacted so many of our families.

            Six years have passed.  Each year since that decision, I have taken the opportunity at the High Holidays to speak about the importance of re-engaging with the synagogue – our synagogue.  I have spoken about our need, as Reform Jews, to be dedicated to the universal values of social justice that impact far beyond our own personal walls.  I have addressed the need to support the State of Israel even when her internal politics challenge us.  I have stressed the necessity of remaining committed to personal autonomy in matters of ritual observance.  I have emphasized the need for our synagogue to be a place of personal, face-to-face and direct human connection all the more so in this digital, social media age.  Most recently, a year ago today, I invited you to engage by telling me what it is that you want from your synagogue -- how we could meet your needs and engage you better.

            Perhaps I have been less than clear.   Let me try to be more so this year.   All of these issues become irrelevant without the synagogue; and, the synagogue – this synagogue -- will not survive without you.  Based on the responses we received from that survey distributed a year ago, those who come are generally quite pleased with Temple Emanuel, its offerings, and its warm, engaging manner; and, yet our congregation remains on the precipice of survival.   Being “pleased” isn’t enough to ensure our survival!

Similar to congregations throughout our country, Jewish and Christian, , our congregation is feeling the stark decrease in religious affiliation that is ubiquitous today.  The religiously unaffiliated, the “nones,” as they are commonly known, are on the rise.  As a 2012 Pew Forum investigation uncovered, it isn’t God that is losing out: strikingly – and frankly, surprisingly, 90% of Americans report to believe in God.  Impressive.  The institutions, such as our very synagogue, however, and the people served by such institutions are losing out.  

That same Pew Forum investigation reveals, not surprisingly, that there is a decrease in trust in religious organizations that is coupled with both a decreased interest in attending worship services and a decrease in societal pressure to do so.    A longitudinal study conducted by researchers at U of C, Berkeley and Duke University found that “one in five, or 20% of, Americans claimed they had no religious preference, more than double the number reported in 1990.”   To place that in context, in 1972, only 5% of those surveyed admitted to “no religious preference.”

I certainly speak to the national trends of decreased affiliation rates, but I can address you. Is this congregation – is Temple Emanuel – an institution about which you care?  Perhaps I have been less than clear.  I can continue to stand on this bema and argue that we must re-invigorate our synagogue with a re-affirmation of Reform, of a Progressive Judaism, as Reform Judaism is labeled internationally, that responds to modernity in a thoughtful and honest way, that offers worship and study opportunities that inspire and challenge, that provides a central place and opportunity for the pursuit of social justice and social support; but, if religious apathy reigns – if you have no paramount interest in supporting and preserving our community, than my arguments are in vain.  They become nothing more than an idealized vision for a world in which no one, save for but a committed few are interested.   I cannot ensure the survival of this synagogue – or any synagogue  -- on my own.   Neither can our Temple President and his Board.  Only you can do that.

            There was a brief moment in modern history, immediately following World War II, when Reform Judaism could boast as the largest and continually growing American Jewish denomination.  My generation was raised in that era of religious institutional expansion that America, generally, was experiencing.   In the decades following WWII, American religion was, in the words of the historian Michael Meyer, “liberated…from apathy,” an apathy that was constant in the decades (not years, mind you, but) decades leading up to that period.  God entered our American pledge of allegiance to our flag during this period following WWII.  This was the time during which “In God we trust” became our motto in this country.  “Belonging to a church and believing in God,” Meyer reminds us, “[were] hallmarks of Americanism.”  (Meyer, 353, ff).

That moment has passed, my friends.  Belonging to a religious community is no longer a priority for most.   Godlessness isn’t the issue, recall: 90% of Americans are apparently believers.  Perhaps we are simply on the other side of the wave of religious institutional devotion that was spurred by the horror of war.  Few are willing to look at the reality of history and demographics for insight.

It is easier to point fingers, and there are plenty of places to which we point:  at the political arena, for instance, for equating being religious with the political far-right , a movement that has sadly succeeded at enmeshing religion and politics in a manner that makes most of us squeamish and then uninterested at ‘being religiously affiliated.’   We could point to our overall comfort and sense of American belonging – our complacency replacing a need for religious affiliation and activity.      

Others, particularly day school advocates, point to a weak religious school system that forces adults to make choices with regard to religious engagement based on a religious education that ended during adolescence.  Still others blame religious apathy on the rise of intermarriage; though, those who do clearly haven’t met the number of non-Jewish spouses who make Jewish life a priority and help to re-engage their entire family into the synagogue.  Talk about commitment.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, the soon to be former Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom, blames the break down of the traditional family structure for decreased synagogue affiliation and goes as far as to state that encouraging women to be “stay-at-home” mothers would go a long way to solving the problem of increased secularism in his country.  

Clearly, we should stop pointing fingers!  The blame game just furthers our denial of the problem and leads to irrational deductions.

 The most insightful, and at same time challenging, explanation of religious apathy may come down to that theological emphasis on individual autonomy that is central to being a modern Jew.   Rabbi Dana Evan Kaplan, who explores the challenges of modern Jewish affiliation has stated, that  “As the Reform movement has increasingly emphasized religious autonomy and the importance of choosing what each person finds spiritually meaningful, it has become impossible to compel members,” to compel you, to come to “and contribute to the vibrant well-being of [the] congregation.”  (Forward article, 2011) 

Kaplan has a valid point.   Put simply, religious obligation is no longer a motivating factor in affiliating with or getting involved in synagogue life.  Guilt perhaps, but even that is fading among my generation, and with regard to synagogue affiliation, is virtually non-existent in the generations coming up after mine.

            What are we to do then?  There is no other choice than religious autonomy for Reform Judaism, or as I have stated on previously, modern Judaism generally.  Our history underscores this.   Our modern and progressive theology demands this.  Religious commitments whether to ideology or to practice, even those commitments that are made within the context of community, ultimately stem from the free will of each individual.   One may choose to accept the yoke of traditional Jewish law, of halacha, as a mandate, but in order to be theologically valid, that decision must be viewed as just that, a conscious and individual choice.

            What we seem to have forgotten in this quest for religious autonomy is that religious free-will need not equate with a religious free-for-all expressed by doing only what feels good and is comfortable.  Making a choice to opt-in to the demands our religious community, namely the synagogue, makes on us, is not a denial or repression of our autonomy; it is, davka, an expression of it.

            Shai Held, co-founder, dean, and chair of Jewish thought at Mechon Hadar, a modern Orthodox yeshiva in Israel, labels our liberal conceptions of autonomy as “impoverished.”  While I rarely agree with “Modern Orthodoxy,” Held has a keen grasp on the essence of our dilemma.  As he explains,

“Freedom, as imagined by the book of Exodus, is decidedly not about casting off the burdens of service altogether. …while we often cite the demand that Pharaoh “let my people go!” we omit the telos of that call, “that they may serve Me.”   The Torah is … concerned with a journey from slavery to freedom, but it imagines freedom in ways that are … antithetical to) the way freedom is commonly spoken of in contemporary…America.  Doing whatever I want, whenever I want, is arguably not freedom at all, but en-slavement to impulse. …. Authentic freedom, Jewish theology insists, is found in service to something …” (Shema, High Holiday 5774 edition)

Which leaves me with questions and challenges that only you can, and frankly, you must, address: what is your commitment to the synagogue?  Should we still strive to support and grow our Jewish communal institutions, specifically the Reform synagogue, this synagogue, Temple Emanuel?  Is it important to you to identify strongly and clearly as Jewish not only by filling your JNF boxes and providing your child a place to mark Bar or Bat Mitzvah, but by committing yourself to the continuity of Progressive – of Reform Jewish communal life, inclusive of worship and Torah, not just those loving acts of kindness  -- Mitzvah Day alone cannot sustain our congregation!   

In ten days, on Yom Kippur, we will be reminded that there are consequences to our choices.   Uvacharta bachayim – choose life!  We can choose a path of sustainability and vitality by stepping up our involvement in and our commitment to the synagogue; or, we can choose not.  We can choose to remain ambivalent and apathetic.  Which will it be: survival of our beloved synagogue or joining the growing sea of the unaffiliated.

            

Nitzavim: Today! Shabbat Nitzavim, 5773

Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem – this well-known textual nugget, according to Rabbi Bradley Shavit-Artson, can be read, perhaps must be read, as an admonition against venerating the past: כלכם היום נצבים אתם, You – all of you - stand here TODAY!  This day you enter into God’s covenant.  Not yesterday.  Not back at Sinai, but now – this very day.  The beauty of the grammar is that every time we read this text, it reads in the present.   Each year, as we will in just 12 days, we recite these words from the bema to perhaps the largest kahal, the largest congregational gathering, of the year.  This day you stand here, the text describes – it demands of us that we remain present, open, and willing to hear and do God’s covenant. 

 The past is a vital component to our relationship with this covenant, and as such, it is ever present in the words of our Torah, the texts of our liturgy, and in the rituals in which we engage; but, each time we come to this parasha, we are reminded, that the present and the future are equally – if not more – important to Jewish continuity. Moreover, the present and future are fully dependent not only on continuity flowing out of the past, but on our very willingness to stand up and be present and open to accepting the mandate of being Jewish and Jewishly engaged in our own day.  Nitzavim assumes our rapt attention to the here and now.

Our tendency is to look towards the past.  There is certainly a lot of it, and much of it is rich and worthy of our attention.  If we solely venerate the past, however, then we have lost complete sight of the Jewish concept of ongoing revelation.  The author of Parashat Nitzavim makes it clear that God’s covenant was never intended to be a relic, it was intended to be renewed in each and every generation.

Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem – I challenge all of us to be fully present as we enter the yamim noraim together.  The call of the shofar is ancient, our response to it must be fully present.

Words - Yes, we need them! Delivered Shabbat Devarim, July 13, 2013

Devarim, words.  Elu devarim asher dibeir Moshe, These are the words that Moses offered….  Up until now, the words Moses recites are almost always preceded by Vayomer Adonai el Moshe, God spoke to Moses.  Only after God advises does Moses then speak to the people.  Now, Moses is ready to speak on his own, and as we will be reminded towards the end of this book of Devarim, Moses does so best through song.   Just as he did at the moment of redemption from Egypt, Moses expresses himself at the end of his life through poetic song.  His final words, his final sermon, if you will ,is not understood as Divrei Moshe, the Words of Moses, but rather Shirat Moshe, The Song of Moses.   Tradition offers Moses the honorific: Moshe Rabbeinu to highlight his role as our first teacher; but, he can certainly be considered just as well as Moshe Chazaneinu.  Moses is the first communal leader, our first Jewish historical figure, to use song as a vehicle for teaching and worship.

Last Shabbat, I was en route home from the annual gathering of the American Conference of Cantors, the umbrella organization of Reform cantors.  The ACC, as it is known (not to be confused with an apparently better known athletic conference referred to by the same acronym), includes graduates and ordinees of the Hebrew Union College’s School of Sacred Music and graduates of other cantorial seminaries who choose to affiliate with and serve Reform congregations.  Each year, the ACC is joined by members of the GTM.  The GTM, The Guild of Temple Musicians, is an organization whose members serve Reform congregations in other non-clergy musical roles – as accompanists, soloists, music directors, choir directors, and composers.  Each year, the ACC and the GTM gather together for a week of worship and concentrated study. 

Back in the youth of my career (as opposed to what I consider the mid-life of my synagogue service), I attended these ACC Conventions regularly, annually.  They provided an opportunity not only to stay tuned to what was current, but also offered the chance to reconnect with former classmates and colleagues.  Due to various life happenings, such as finishing a dissertation and taking congregants to Israel, I have not attended an ACC gathering in 3-4 years.  It was nice to see my colleagues and to learn some new music; but more importantly, attending this year reminded me of the divine pleasures of Torah lishmah, study for study’s own sake, and of sitting back and being an anonymous member of a kahal, a community.

The impact of the text study sessions will appear in sermons or teaching during the upcoming year, I look forward to sharing what I studied with you; but, most immediately, I’d like to share the experience of worship.

We gather for prayer twice daily at ACC Conferences, every morning before study and each evening before dinner.  If only I could bottle the sound.  Imagine: 150 voices, voices of people who are not only confident and competent musicians, but who are passionate about Jewish worship.  Imagine them all coming together in prayer.  The resulting worship trascends the cantorial ego and bravado creating beautiful prayer and spontaneous harmonies in a way that only a group of cantors can acheive.  The simplest nigun becomes sublime in its harmonic complexity.

At the same time as there are moments and melodies that inspire me as a worshipper, a religious leader, and as a teacher of prayer, there are also moments of experimental worship, some of which fall short of what I expect was the intended result.  Conferences are, remember, first and foremost a place to learn and experience the new and cutting edge.   This year, one of these moments occurred during what was billed as “hands-free worship.”  Hands-free worship is a trend that is beginning to find its way from the mega-church movement into many Reform and some Conservative synagogues.  I purposely attended this service, an evening service, in order to experience it first-hand, or shall I say hands free.  Is this something that would enhance our worship offerings at Temple Emanuel?  Could this be a tool for re-invigorating our poorly attended Erev Shabbat services, in particular?

Before I share my ultimate ‘come away’ from the experience, allow me to first describe the setting.  Generally, hands-free worship involves replacing a prayer book with projected images (imagine a large power-point screen at the front of the sanctuary) with text, music, and perhaps graphics.  At the ACC convention’s Hand’s Free Worship, there was no projected text.  I am unclear if this was a conscious decision, such a group as ours really didn’t need the words or music in front of us, we know it by rote.  There was a big screen at the front of the room, just nothing projected on it (the screen was in the room for the entire conference).   At the front of the room was a worship leader seated and leading from a piano and two additional musical leaders seated next to the piano.   I believe the intention of the service was to remove any distractions and maximize what we label “participation.”  The leaders, all cantors, lead beautifully and with great competence.  Indeed, we stood, sat, and sang along on cue.  But, the entire experience felt lacking.  It is not a style of worship that I will be introducing to Temple Emanuel any time soon save perhaps in a religious school classroom or a First Friday Shabbat as a supplement to (not replacement of) the siddur.  My reasons are two-fold.

The first can perhaps best be expressed by my response to a colleague who was lamenting one morning over breakfast how she just couldn’t seem to increase participation in her congregation.  No matter how much she tried, she said, she just couldn’t get them to “participate” more.  She continued to describe how she walks up and down the isles of her sanctuary clapping and encouraging singing.   My, perhaps less than welcome, response: maybe she was limiting her definition of what it means to “participate” in worship.   I could begin a rant here, actually.  I believe one of our biggest failures in the Reform movement is that not only have leaders limited the definition of participation to far too narrow a window, but that limited definition has then been imposed as the best - the only - goal across the board for successful worship. 

Participation does not equal singing along, foot stomping, or clapping.  These are valid ways of participation, no argument there; but, so are sitting back and listening, being engaged and inspired by the texts before us, meditating on prayer and Torah perhaps while others around us are singing (one of my favorite ways of participating at ACC worship by the way, not one I can do here in my role as service leader) – these are all also valid ways of participating even if they can’t be measured by an enthusiastic response.   Participating often means closing our mouths, opening our ears, and taking in the fullness of a worship experience.  As a dear teacher and cantorial colleague, Dr. Eliyahu Schleifer, once reminded me, though there are no congregational refrains in sermons or drashot, your attention, your involvement, is expected.  Why do we expect any less for our liturgy?

Even though the “Hands-Free worship” was participatory in the sense that everyone was singing along, it felt performative instead of engaging.   We were a front focused audience – a sing a-long one for sure – but not so much a congregation. 

My guess as to what made it feel so performative was the lack of a hands on text.   I do believe that there is something binding about us being literally on the same page whether we are singing aloud together or not.    I don’t care if the text in my hand is paper bound or digital (btw, Mishkan Tefilah is available as a very usable ipad app), but I believe there is value in having a shared text.  I didn’t realize how visceral that attachment to text was until it was removed from my hands.  On the one hand, this attachment could be attributed to my academic and bookish interests, but it seems to me that Judaism becomes vacuous without text.  Why would we want to remove the text or place it further away from us? It is our textual traditions – biblical, rabbinic, and liturgical – that ground us, and these texts belong firmly in our hands.

Devarim – words.  On parchment, on paper, on a digital screen -- our liturgy, our poetry is just that, words.  It is only one aspect, but an important, aspect of prayer.  It is the very combination of our written texts and the oral renderings and interpretations that we bring to the words the make them sing.  It is this combination of what is in our hands and what is beyond our hands that give Jewish worship the potential of being a rich and meaningful experience.   So, let's keep the words in our hands.

 

 

 

 

My Remarks at the 2013 Annual Meeting of Temple Emanuel of Baltimore

This past week’s Torah portion, Shelach l’cha reminds us that we all have our own perceptions about what is a reasonable challenge.    We can imagine ourselves like grasshoppers in the face of nephilim, or we can remain focused on our skills, strengths, and the vision that has been set forth before us.   Choosing the latter does not mean that we ignore real obstacles.  It doesn’t mean we proceed with overly-confident, rose colored visions of the future.  No, it means we engage in the work, often time consuming work, required to meet challenge and overcome obstacle as best as we are able.

This annual meeting provides the opportunity to thank our lay leaders for doing just that – our executive committee (members of which are seated here and from whom you will hear), our Board of Trustees, and our Visioning for the Future committee.  These are the leaders in our midst, who like Caleb and Joshua are willing to proceed forward with great effort and expenditure of time and creativity in order to help Temple Emanuel have a promising future.  Please don’t take \their efforts for granted!   Their work is for all of our benefit.

The end of a fiscal year is also an appropriate time to reflect on the successes and challenges of our congregation.  Let me first enumerate just a few of the successes:

Shabbat morning worship: unlike many Reform congregations around the country, we have a regular gathering every Saturday morning, and we pray as one community celebrating milestones together and enjoying each other’s company.  We create Shabbat community, week after week.

TESCA: Our Temple Emanuel Studio of Cooperative Artists not only bring a beautiful aesthetic to our midst, but more importantly TESCA is a modern and creative extension of Torah and gemilut chasadim.  And, I’m proud to say that it is uniquely ours.

We have drastically reduced our operating budget, and we have done a remarkable job of reigning in deficit. When I first attended Board meetings in 2000, budget deficits were pushing into the 6-figure range.  There is still work to do in order to get us to a predictably fully balanced budget, but the effort to get us this far in just a few years must be recognized as a success!

Our Religious school is vibrant and compelling.  Our building is at our liveliest when school is in session.  Our teachers are sincerely interested in raising up a new generation of Jews, our students are interested and engaged, and our program is continuing to be current, educational, and creative.

We have shared in each other’s joys celebrating weddings, Bar/t Mitzvahs, and baby naming.  And, I’ve watched our members comfort and support each during times of challenge and loss, both communal and individual loss.  

I feel great pride in serving this congregation, and the source of that pride is you: the members and the programs you support and prioritize.  The vision of Torah coupled with social justice, and interest in worship that expresses our liturgy with integrity -  this is what gives me immense pride as this congregation’s rabbi and cantor.

Are challenges still present – no question.   There are nephillim that at times feel insurmountable and make us feel reduced to grasshopper size.  From my perspective, I see two:

Friday night worship.  As our Shabbat morning gathering has grown and become a stable fixture in our congregation (something that was not so 20-25 years ago), regular Friday night attendance has dwindled.   

And 2: We face the continuing challenge of fostering Jewish engagement and making synagogue affiliation and involvement – involvement that translates into financial and volunteer support -- a priority.

We are not unique in facing these two challenges; they reflect national trends in suburban communities; and, I don’t have an magical or easy solutions to these two challenges.  But, I don’t believe they are obstacles that should make us turn away or give up hope on synagogue life.  It is clear to me that our successes far, far outweigh these challenges.  I hope that it is clear to you as well.

As we continue our meeting, let us remain mindful of our leadership’s need of our support.   Can we remain committed to the expression of Jewish values through the synagogue?  As we offer our respect to the presentations our lay leadership has for us, may each of us be further inspired to continue our journey towards future promise, as a cohesive progressive congregation! 

Chazak, chazak v’nitchazek – may we be strengthened as we proceed into a new fiscal year in our congregation.

 

 

 

The Yuval: A Call for Liberty! Delivered Shabbat Behar-Bechukotai, 5/3/2013

          BeHar, we are still standing at Sinai.  This Shabbat, as we conclude the reading of the Book of Leviticus, we review the last pieces of the legislation given to Moses by God on the top of this mountain.   The legislation contained within these last two portions of Vayikra, Behar & Bechukotai, are confounding at first glance.  In a moment, Carly will address the challenges of the system of divine retribution laid out in the latter of these readings, in Parashat Bechukotai.  Allow me to take a moment to reflect on Parashat Behar. 

          Parashat Behar opens with laws regarding land ownership: first, the command to give the land a Sabbath year of fallow every seventh year, what is called the shemitah; and second, the commandment regarding the yuval, the Jubilee marked every 50 years.  After counting off seven weeks of years – seven times seven years, or in simpler terms after counting 49 years, the Israelites were to sound the shofar on Yom Kippur to announce the start of the yuval.  The first instruction after the call of the shofar:

וְקִדַּשְׁתֶּם אֵת שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל-יֹשְׁבֶיהָ

You shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and you shall proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all its inhabitants.  Sound familiar, “You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land & to all of its inhabitants!”  This Levitical verse found its way onto the Liberty Bell that sits proudly as a national symbol on Independence Mall in Philadelphia.  The Torah portion continues from this now famous verse to detail the instructions for the yuval, in short the specifics for the release of one’s material holdings (in the biblical period this amounted to land, loans, and people).

          Liberty.  The Hebrew original:  dror, translated on our nation’s bell as “liberty,” is of interest.  The translation comes from the Church of England’s King James bible whose 1769 edition became the gold standard of bible translations in the non-Jewish English speaking world.  Ironically, of course, though it was crafted in London, the Liberty Bell was commissioned to celebrate political independence from Britain.  Our bell, however, became a popular national symbol for freedom only decades later when “freedom” took on the added connation of personal freedom from slavery and bondage.  These modern notions of liberty are lovely, and the Church of England’s translation fits with our American values; yet, it behooves us to consider what the biblical writer intended for us to understand as dror, as liberty or freedom.  Given the context of the narrative in Leviticus, which was inked long before any idea of America, let alone American Revolution or Civil War entered human consciousness, the word choice warrants attention.    

Most often when referring to freedom (such as the setting free of a slave or servant), the bible uses an entirely different word, חופש  (chofesh), a term that in modern Hebrew today still retains the notion of freedom as it is used for vacation.  In Israel, when school lets out, chofesh  begins.  

          So, why dror?  Why not chofesh like elsewhere in the Torah where freedom and liberty are referenced?  Rashi, the well-known and beloved eleventh-century French commentator, views dror as specifically the freedom from living under someone else’s rule - under someone else's thumb, an understandable understanding given the reality of Jewish life in medieval France and Germany.   A thirteenth-century grammarian, R. Avraham Bedersi, argued similarly that chofesh implies solely a reduction of servitude or serf-labor, whereas “dror signifies its total abolition.”  Certainly the abolition of serfdom was an ideal of liberty for many (especially Jews, who were as a people barred from owning land) during this period.   Later scholars too add that while chofesh marks the absence of labor perhaps even for a length of time, dror denotes the polar opposite of subservience.    Dror demands that each person become his or her own master. 

Contemporary scholars Tamara Cohen Ezkenazi and Rabbi Andrea Weiss, the editors of the 2008 Women’s Torah Commentary published by The Women of Reform Judaism, remind us that the laws regarding the land in Parashat Behar, including our venerated proclamation of liberty, “aim to protect economically disadvantaged members of their community from losing their freedom and means of livelihood.” The yuval, the 50^th Jubilee year, was instituted, was legislated, into the biblical calendar as a vehicle for economic adjustment as an, albeit theologically-based, system for the balancing of power and ownership in society.   

          For all of our American valuing of liberty, I wonder how well we are doing at maintaining dror in our society?   I am no economist or wealth manager, but it seems to me that our society reflects anything but the balance of power, wealth, and ownership across the citizens of our nation.  Proclaiming a liberty that extends beyond chofesh, simply an extended vacation from labor for some demands that we take very seriously the positive mandate of dror and the responsibility liberty entails.  Becoming master of our selves, of being released from being subordinate to another, is not a mandate to accumulate excessive wealth with the intent of holding onto it in such a way as to keep others subordinate. 

America’s founders understood this as well.  The responsibility and determination required to establish a new country free of familiar monarchy and based entirely on new and democratic ideals, required dror.  It required the liberty to release and allow others to claim.  Those who commissioned our nation’s bell, I believe, fully understood the context of this proclamation of liberty.   Proclaiming dror ba’aretz, proclaiming a release that allows for the experience of true liberty, is a mandate to take care of the world – and all that we claim from it as material possession – for the time that it is ours to do so.  The privilege of that liberty demands also that we do so in a manner that promotes liberty and justice for all.   

Yesh Kedoshim Achare Mot: A Reflection on Boston, delivered Shabbat Achare Mot-Kedoshim, 4/20/2013

We may consider baseball the quintessential American pastime, especially from April through early October; but, if there is any competitive sport that captures the essence of the American spirit, it is running.  And the canonical game in the world of running is the marathon, a race that covers 26.2 carefully measured miles typically spread over the landscape of any American city or town.  Most every major city has one: NY, D.C., Chicago, Philly, San Francisco, Orlando, Houston, Baltimore… I could go on... and of course, Boston.  Many small towns too proudly host them.  No stadiums are required for the marathon; no, its playing field weaves through main street America, through the neighborhoods where we live, where we work, where we play. 

The marathon draws spectators from all walks of life.  No ticket is required to attend – there is no entrance fee to watch the race unfold – conversely, race spectators often come with gifts to share: motivational music and sideline entertainment, gummy bears or orange slices, and shouts of encouragement for all the runners.  The best racing tip anyone has ever given me?  Put my name in big letters on my shirt!  “Go Rho!” – there is nothing better than being encouraged on by hundreds (in some races, like Boston, thousands) of strangers, who want nothing more than to see and support others, particularly the regular runner as they head forward towards the finish line.  Everyone is on the same team during a running event.  We are all pointed towards the very same goal.

Taking on the marathon, especially the goal of Boston, is an extraordinarily democratic endeavor.  It requires everything we value as Americans: self-driven dedication and determination.  Anyone with two-feet can do it.  And these days, due to the advances in prosthetic devices and specially made aerodynamic wheelchairs, feet are loosely defined.  There are many who complete the marathon powered by their arms or balanced on the weight of artificial limbs.  There are even those who unable to run or walk on their own are carried over the course and across the finish line by a loved one.  The marathon is a sport that creates a tight-knit community that crosses all demographic and racial boundaries, that includes all shapes, sizes, and colors.   To watch a mass of runners in a race is to view a slice of America.

Few go to a marathon to watch the elite racers who make a profession out of the sport.  Most spectators are there to watch everyone else.  What makes the race so compelling to watch is that completing it, the ultimate ‘win’ of those who ‘race,’ is within reach of virtually anyone who tries it.   It is truly a test of endurance far more than skill.  It requires the motivation to put one foot in front of the other, over and over and over again, despite exhaustion, despite rain, heat, or wind, despite any challenges that lie ahead.  It requires training even when motivation wanes.  It requires knowing when to rest, when to back off, when we get overly eager.  Indeed, training for, participating in, and then finishing a marathon offers an incredibly powerful metaphor for engaging in life.   Running, even racing, isn’t about being first or being most powerful; for the sheer majority of runners, it’s about finishing what we’ve started.  It is about continuing to put one foot in front of the other despite discomfort and adversity.  It is all about accomplishing a reach, a seemingly unattainable goal that is the result of sheer effort and will.   Perhaps that is why the marathon is so darn compelling.  Perhaps that is why every single person who crosses the finish line medals!

Yes, everyone who crosses that finish line, whether it takes 3 hours, 4 hours, 6 hours, or 12, whether they are walking, running, or shuffling, everyone who completes the course gets a medal.  Only a small number of entrants race to win the top prizes and spots in more competitive venues. The majority of those who run and participate in races, in these “running events,” run in the middle to the back of the pack, and most all who come to watch are there for them: for the runners who run in memory of a loved one, for the runners who run as a way to raise money for an important cause, for the runners who take up the challenge on behalf of those who can’t, for the runners who took up the sport as a way of dealing with crisis and then stuck with it because of the emotional healing running provided, for the runners who run simply because running feels good and provides an escape from the everyday demands of life.  

These are the runners that make up the bulk of any marathon even the prestigious and well-known Boston race whose spots are so coveted among runners.  And, in a marathon, it is these mid-packers (as we are called) who finish in the 4-5+ hour range.  On Monday, it was these Americans and their families who came out to support them – Americans just like me and just like you -- who bore the brunt of the carnage.  I have no doubt the timing was purposeful, an attempt to inflict maximum damage while striving to crush the tenacious spirit of those who have put forth the most effort in order to be there.  The attack on the Boston Marathon was aimed directly at the heart of the American spirit.

 This Shabbat, we conclude the reading of two Torah portions, Achare Mot and Kedoshim.   After the sudden death of Aaron’s two sons, after what must be viewed as a traumatic event, there is still the capacity for holiness. This Shabbat, let our readings remind us that yesh kedoshim achare mot, there is the capacity for holiness after trauma.  The news headlines have been, as expected, consumed with the tracing the root of the horror.  A focus on the human capacity for evil instead of goodness.  In the spirit of the marathon and what it stands for, however, we must remain cognizant of the extraordinary acts of holiness that took place even in the midst of digesting the reality of the scene:

 How many runners, despite their own exhaustion after running the 26.2 mile course, continued to run in order to help others; how many emergency responders and ordinary citizens rushed in to deliver aid; how many Bostonians opened their homes to help stranded individuals, spent runners and panicked family members, trying hard to re-connect over the din of the tragedy.   Kedoshim t’hiyu: these actions remind me that there is holiness in humanity.  The veteran who reassuringly held the hand and talked with a complete stranger while she was waiting for medical attention simply because in his words, “If there was nothing else I could do, I could talk to her” reminds me that anachnu kedoshim, we can behave in a sacred manner.    The small gesture of the finisher who took off his finisher’s medal and placed it around the neck of a runner who was a ½ mile from the finish line when a bomb exploded erases any doubts I have with regard to the potential for holiness in our world.

The marathon represents for many, to quote the former Sun writer Michael Hill, who himself ran Boston 8-times, “a place of stunning human achievement that [maintains] an innocence and joy so often absent in our sports…What we must do now is take our lesson from the marathoners. You get to around mile 20, 21, 22 and it hurts. It hurts like hell. But you reach down deep within yourself and find something and keep going.”   And, remarkably, even if we don’t see it coming, and “though it seems like it takes forever, soon enough the pain is replaced with joy.”   

Yesh kedoshim achare mot.  One of running’s life lessons is that no matter how well you train, there is a significant degree of unpredictability come race day that impacts performance.  In athlete speak, we call our body’s response to unpredictability, “bonking.”  Bonking is when our bodies fail to respond to our brain’s desire to keep pace after an extended period.    Sometimes no matter how prepared we are, how much we will ourselves, we still face a wall.  Bonking, however, doesn’t mean we must stop.  It means we have to change our plan.  We may have to slow down, walk, refuel, but we can keep moving forward; we can – and runners do, still reach the finish line.

Life is terribly unpredictable, and too often uncontrollable, unforeseen events take us off guard.  The human capacity for holiness, however, is a constant.  Our challenge is behaving in a manner consistent with kedoshim even when “bonk,” even when we are tired, spent, and believe we have we have hit our physical and emotional limit.   

Let us be inspired by the runners who take on the challenge of completing the marathon.  When we are confronted with pain, hardship, even horror,  when we come face to face with our own physical limitations, we must remained committed to the next step, and the step after that, and the step after that.   Even if we are forced to adjust our pace and our goals, we must remain committed to the mandate of our Torah, to kedoshim t’hiyu, ki kadosh, ani Adonai, to modeling the divine and bringing sparks of holiness into our world.